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Topic: Adventurers-Upon-Return (Chap II) (Read 109317 times)

Normally Moruz would have woken in an instant at the sound of commotion four rooms down; a heavy sleeper dies in his dreams, in the desert. But the last week he had been drifting in and out of half-sleep due to the pain in his face, and this night was the first time he could fully succumb to unconciousness. Moruz slept... and dreamt.

Darkness turned to a haze, and Moruz found himself standing in the middle of a featureless desert. Though there were no distinguishing characteristics, he felt the coarseness of the Kalcha desert, or Karikun in his language. The scene flickered.Moruz raised his hands in front of his face - ten stubby fingers of a child stood in his vision. Moruz was twelve again and he stood, now, in the middle of the main row of western Bareka; the Ouzquin Dremorix capital. A small crowd had formed, and Moruz found himself at the front of it, staring in bewilderment at another child; perhaps fourteen years old, and kneeled on the ground, nursing his crushed left arm. The second child had been in the wrong place at the wrong time - he had darted from around a corner and spooked a horse, which reared up and bucked the poor adolescent with its hooves. His left arm had been caught underhoof, and he also showed a plethora of bruises and wounds - blood mixed with the sand. It was not the broken arm, or the child itself that had Moruz so shocked, however. It was the sight of a plain glass circlet laid - cracked in three pieces - on the ground, and all around it broken shards of glass which could have made up a small orb. In his dreams, Moruz felt the blood drain from his face.After some time of staring, Moruz realised nobody was stepping in to aid the weeping child, and he took a step forward with the intent of helping. After a single step, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and Moruz looked up to see his father standing above him, shaking his head, "No, Moruz. It is too late; he is dead." The image of his father flickered for just an instant to a cloaked man, figure hidden by a drawn hood and a glint where his eyes should be, before falling back to his father, and Moruz thought he smelled rain on the wind. The child turned back to look at the horse-victim again, and in its place sat a pale, emaciated halfling, a sadistic grin on it's face and the glaze of death in its eyes. The ghoul leapt at Moruz with a hiss, and everything turned to black. Darkness reigned.

In the bed at the harpy's kettle, Moruz twisted and turned.

Moruz sat crying in the middle of a small crowd, nursing a crushed arm. He had just run around the corner and frightened a horse which reared up, trampling him, breaking his arm, two fingers, a toe and knocking his circlet off his forehead, which shattered on the ground. Blood mixed with the sands beneath him. Some people stopped as if to help, but when they noticed the shattered circlet, they shed a single tear then walked on. After some time an outsider child made his way to the front of the crowd and watched Moruz, who reached a pleading hand out to the outsider. The second child took a step towards Moruz, before bieng stopped by a shirtless dwarf - twin axes tattooed across his chest - who placed his hand on his shoulder and spoke, "No, Percy. It is too late; he is dead." Percy nodded and turned away, glancing at Moruz's weeping mother and father who stood at the forefront of the crowd before disappearing in the group of people. On top of the building across the street, a single vulture alighted, staring at the dying child hungrily."What are you all DOING!?" Two people pushed their way through the crowd - obviously outsiders - and stood before Moruz, one kneeling before him and trying to stanch the bleeding while the other was staring angrily at the crowd, demanding of them all why they were not helping. Just before Moruz blacked out, he heard a voice answer in the crowd, "Why stitch the wounds of the dead? It will not bring them back to life." The light gave way to black. Darkness reigned.

Moruz shuffled uncomfortably in his sleep; nearly roused by a loud shout some rooms down. Unconsciousness clinged on, however, and dreams swirled once more.

Moruz sat crying in the middle of a small crowd, nursing a crushed arm. He had just run around the corner, and ran into a furious half-ogre, who trampled him before running away, muttering something about insects and swatting at flies. Chasing the ogre was a man with manacles held out in both hands, as though he was trying to capture the large creature. Moruz's arm was crushed, and the circlet about his head had been knocked off and shattered on the ground. Blood mixed with the sands beneath them. As people walked by, one woman knelt down and soaked a paper scoll in Moruz's blood before walking away calmly. After some time, Moruz noticed a stocky dwarf at the front of the crowd, garnished with gold and silver necklaces and bracelets. Tattooes of gold rings were imprinted on his palms. After some time watching Moruz, the dwarf made to step forward, but next to him a man with a whip in his belt and a severed head in his free hand, placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder and spoke, "No, Glordren. It is too late; he is dead." The dwarf nodded and turned away, glancing up at two weeping mages; one with a lizard standing on his shoulder and the other with a mouse standing on his."What art thou DOING!?" Two people pushed their way through the crowd. One wearing crimson robes with an image of a rising sun on the front, and the other with blood streaked across his garments, and two mirrored coins resting over his eyes. As the blood-stained man kneeled down to stanch Moruz's bleeding, the coins fell from his face and the cold glaze of death was apparant on his eyes. On the other side of the street, on top of a building Moruz saw a bald, painted man, arms crossed regally in front of him - the man spoke defiantly, "Why stitch the wounds of the dead? It will not bring them back to life." The sun was blotted out by the ghastly face of a dead priest, who bared his teeth hostilely. Everything went black. Darkness reigned.

Vorodon nearly knocked Aerex from the stairs in his mad dash upwards, but the action in Dujek’s room was already taking place.

As the knife-wielding Tristan lunged at Kadarin, the mage recoiled but not before pointing and firing his newly acquired wand at the charging “priest”.

Meanwhile the real Tristan chanted an ear-splitting orison, summoning a mace of cerulean blue with veins of crackling crimson light cascading along its length, as if from thin air. With a battle cry, Tristan came forward.

The Triguian advanced on the imposter, but suddenly an exploding bolt of searing light, blinded all present within the room. Stunned confusion was followed less than a second later with the awful screams of Tristan and Veitch. They screamed as if they were burning alive.

From Kadarin’s humble wand came forth a twined bolt of lightning, and having no room to travel, struck both Veitch and Tristan in a painful shower of sparks which flew everywhere about the room, charring Kadarins eyebrows and nearly setting the lizard on fire.

Veitch was struck first and hardest, Tristan receiving less of the snaking bolts thunderous jolt. Te priest did scream in agonizing pain, but was drowned out by the suddenly blackened and charred imposter.

Veitch just screamed and screamed, a sound unlike any human throat was capable of duplicating, yet somehow still had the wherewithal to keep coming at Kadarin.

But the swipe of the imposter's curved dagger was incidental as Veitch sidestepped the mage and made directly toward the window, leaping with some grace, despite the fact that his horrid, bubbling flesh was nearly black now from the lightning bolt, and his unfamiliar screams of pain persisted.

Dujek finally groped for his cane. The light show and shower of sparks had befuddled Dujek momentarily, but he was now lucid again.

“Dran Ou Melka’an“ came the bellowing roar, as Vorodon entered, nearly knocking the door of its hinges.

The site that greeted him was a strange one.

One Tristan was kneeling on a knee, obviously shaken, smoke coming off his body in wisps. Dujek was propped up against a corner wall, clutcing his cane and struggling to rise. Kadarin was standing and staring at his wand in astonishment, and what could only be described as a burnt Second Tristan, was shrieking in an inhuman voice, while slashing with his blade blindly and leaping past the stunned Kadarin, into a rectangular window of shimmering energy, which had suddenly materialized on the wall next to the rickety, mundane, and only actual window, in the room!

As Vorodon took in the scene, Aerex, dagger clenched in his fist, ducked under the half-ogres arm and entered the room. Talia arrived a second later.

In a few scant moments, the charred Tristan would propel himself through some magical portal!

--Below and outside, Glordren looked up to the third floor window. For a second he stared in amazement, as he witnessed the room light up like a beacon amidst a darkened sea, an awful great crackle sounding, and finally, screams of unimaginable pain.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

The lights and sounds, and then the stench of burning flesh. And still the notTristan kept coming at Kadarin, screaming some inhuman scream up pain. Grabbing his cane he went at whatever it was, swinging his cane with both of his hands, downward toward the sides thing's knees.

Logged

For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

Talia looked at the others for a split second, then lunged for the smoking, screaming imposter. She couldn't heal the others, and if they didn't catch the attacker, he would be back. A fan was already out. Crossing the room wasn't a great distance, but he was so much closer to the window... Throwing would be madness. She was confident that she'd be able to land on her feet should she need to go through the window as well.

Aerex had only a split second to think as the doppelganger dove for the otherworldly window and escape. In the corner of his eye, Aerex caught Talia lunging for him, her steel fan reflecting the strange light eminating from the portal. The gypsy warrior's skill would probably be enough to stop and corner the unTristan, but the constable wasn't going to take any chances. Reversing his grip on the dagger, he dove in a tackle directly at the double.

painpainpainPainPainPainPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN!!! Every nerve ending in Tristan's body screamed in everlasting torment from the lightning bolt summoned from Kadarin's wand, his skin burnt and blistering from the heat. A pale shadow of the torments endured by the forever-lost, the agony of the assault was nearly unbearable, so much so that speaking was yet another lover's touch of livid torture.

His eyes might deceive him, but there was one thing the Volgottir knew better than anyone: That foul stench wasn’t the smell of wholesome cooked human flesh! The Thing that mocked his new ally’s shape was some sort of deceiving demon or uncanny spirit, not a human double!

The enraged warrior drove forward like a juggernaut, clutching the haft of his weapon across his body with both hands. As his new friend, the Insecter, leapt forward to tackle the unnatural thing, he slammed his axe’s haft across the creature’s abdomen with all of his body’s power, forcing the travesty away from its magical portal, driving it backwards toward the room’s gaping actual window.

“Had are good Trii!” he joked incomprehensibly as he drove the thing toward the gaping aperture.

(OOC: That would be "Have a good trip!" if anyone other than Voro were saying it.)

And despite the repulsive smell of scorched flesh and the wailing of electrocuted doppleganger and the thunderous bellowing of the Volgottir, naught could stir the usually spry Vee Keykold from his daring redoubt half under a bench and half under one of the tables in the common room of the Kettle. There would be hell and a half to pay tomorrow for the bottles of wine drunk, but despite the vague sensation of having the top of his head removed by vindictive pint sized yard goblins, he would endure the pain and smile.

The the boisterous Adventurer-Upon-Return, or member of the Band of the Treasured Chests was at the moment quite warm and comfortable. His cloak made for a thin pallet on the floor, but the warm body nuzzled against him was quite a reprieve.

(OOC - sorry, it's late, and Vee was previously mentioned as being passed out drunk.)

Even as his eyes recovered from the blinding flash, Kadarin was stunned by what he saw. By the gods, No! dispaired Kadarin.I only meant to get the imposter! Another part of his mind said Well, that's chaos for you!.

Kadarin then was filled with panic as the false Tristan DEMON kept coming for him. Amazingly, the creature only made a half-hearted attack as he bypassed the shaken mage and headed for a new, enchanted portal that appeared on the wall.

Suddenly the door burst open and many members new figures entered the fray. Too many in the way, thought Kadarin. <I>I better see to Tristan - it's my fault he's hurt!

Moving to the table of items that he and Dujek had recently worked over, Kadarin picked up the vial of healing draughts and brought them over to the striken cleric. Hopefully he'll get enough strength to heal himself.

An odd thought struck him as he moved over to the real Tristan: I wonder what a Demon would have against a Necromancer?

Jagged yellow fangs stretched against his leathery black lips, as the wolf-man twisted his deformed muzzle in a twisted effort at a smile.

So Jjuldae does not flee up the stairs to assist his out-lander friends with whatever peril that has chosen to befall them. Does his cowardice once again prevent him from doing the noble thing? Or has he finally realized the futility of evading my vengeance? Perhaps he hopes to beg me to spare his life, or failing that, at least grant him the mercy of a quick death. If so, he is as much a fool as a traitor, for I can find none for him in this savage heart of mine. The wails of the dead choke my ears, and it is justice they demand. Only when his lingering screams are unleashed, can they ever find peace. Let Jujuulde breathe his last foul gasp, for this is the moment when my fangs shall rend his unworthy throat.

Uttering a single a blood-curdling howl of long repressed hatred and fury, the beast smashed through the window of the Leaky Kettle with its hulking frame, sending a cloud of ragged glass fragments flying in the direction of the still seated druid.

''It's been a long time, Jjuldae. But tell me, tribe-murderer, do your memories of me yet remain fresh? ''

« Last Edit: November 22, 2006, 11:17:34 PM by Maggot »

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“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

The druid rose slowly, his movements restrained and stiff. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat choked shut like a fist closing, his words only a dry rattle. He had long awaited this vengeance for his cowardice. The punishments of the Old Ones were mortal- the Old Ways taught that as beasts in a world of things, there is only one life which any living thing has to live; afterlives were a concept of weak and cowardly settled folk, worshipping lying usurper gods.

Withered, horripilated, white and silvery like lightning; its jagged bones formed a vicious geometry of grim and impartial divine retribution. The White Wolf, The Thing Of The Cave of Teeth, the Great One's Dawn Assassin. Jjuldae had long considered which instrument the Old Ones would choose to employ in their ancient justice.The brotherhood's knowledge knew many alastors such as these used by the Old Ones, to punish crimes known, unknown, or unknowable (so many beyond mortal ken- even the druids could not understand some laws of the Old Ways); some such punishers the druids did not know, or wish to know, so terrible indeed were their countenances. But this was no time for such thought.What you have learned of a thing rarely meets its reality without being wounded in the fight, like a settled-man's dog trying to fight the wolf of the wilds.

"I have petitioned the Unnameable Ones with my cries," Jjuldae began, finding his voice; he knew this justice would not be averted. "Can not my sentence be commuted? I am pious in the Old Ways, and my deeds may yet evoke the remembrance of them."

The creature stared, its gnarled maw and mummified gums snarling in perpetual promise of danger. Jjuldae stoically lifted his cup, taking a gulp of the pungent herb beverage. The Old Ways were clear- a druid must face his death without trembling. But in his heart of hearts, the Crimson Throated one felt a voiceless incantation tingle open fearsomely. The Old Ways were clear- a druid must never submit until he fights.

--Jjuldae rose, no hint of emotion betraying his vulture eyes, and spoke to the abomination before him. Assailed by the White Wolf in this stinking, innocuous hovel, the druid thought ruefully.

The few patrons who were still in the taproom fled through the door outside or up the staircase, when the silver and milk-white beast burst through the window, shattered glass and splintered wood flying in all directions. The creature, all muscle, teeth, and sinew, spoke to the druid in a low, penetrating growl, ignoring all else around it.

A duel, the likes of which Blodrus the Lame had never seen before, and one he did not care to witness now. The portly innkeeper, the “lucky” inheritor of the Harpy’s Kettle, dragged his lame leg across the taproom floor, as swiftly as he could and beat a hasty retreat along with the other regulars.

“Mrrmmf”, came a noise not far from the warming ox pit. After several hours, the comely wench keeping Keykold warm in turn, rolled off, waking suddenly from the commotion, in the process inadvertently waking Vee from a near comatose slumber on the inn floor. The rogue stirred and groaned.

A lone voice, another drunkard, didn’t move from his seat, a mere twenty feet from the druid and the lycanthrope, but kept right on drinking, tankard in hand, his eyes sagging and tearing.

“Oy! Back to tha Freakshow with ya! Both of ya!” he announced nonplussed at the terrifying and seething beast and the face-painted, bird-like robed man.

--Outside, Glordren could not believe his eyes a second time in under a minute. As if the gruesome goings on upstairs weren’t enough, and they had to be gruesome judging by the immeasurable cries of pain above, the dwarf now gaped anew as a snarling, snow-white swirl of flesh and fur, plunged headlong into the ground-level window of the inn, coming seemingly out of nowhere, smashing its way inside, oblivious to the consequences. Shouting and screaming patrons pored out the inn doors and rushing past the momentarily bewildered dwarven priest, heralded the abomination’s arrival.

--As Jjuldae awaited the creature’s response he thought once more of the Old Ways, of the customs and traditions of the Stone Soul people. He could not channel the powers of the Old Ones now, nor use his own brand of magicks, if challenged by one of the Great One’s Assassins. Not according to the tenets of the Test of Tooth and Nail. That was the tradition.

Tooth and Nail; the druids who followed the Old Ways had held this ancient rite of combat and passage in high regard. In the Old Days, even when a druid ascended beyond a certain point in personal power, he or she would have to face the Test of Tooth and Nail, before receiving their respective and recognized, hierophantic rank. A mortal combat, usually between two aspiring druids, but sometimes, rare individuals would have to go up against an unnatural beast, using nothing except their natural “gifts”, their bodies. To cast Druidic magic during one of these “Judgments” would be considered highly taboo among the Peoples of the Stone Soul. The strong thrived, the mewling survived, that was the Old Way.

This would be one of those times, Jjuldae thought unafraid but accepting of his own probable demise. The creature would fight with Tooth and Nail, of that Jjuldae had no doubt, but the “natural gifts” of the lycanthrope were far superior to his own, he mused the obvious. A cruel test. So be it. Let it come. He had little choice in the matter.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

--“What deviltry this is sir! What deviltry this is!” came the shrill voice of a balding, paunchy, otherwise nondescript bar patron, who had ran up the stairs and burst through the first door he encountered, Moruz’ door, the one that didn’t quite lock. The Ouzquin Dremorix opened his eyes, roused from his bizarre dreamscape.

--Vorodon rushed across the room in an attempt to smash the scorched creature with enough force to change its trajectory and send it hurtling through the glass and wooden window a few feet from its shimmering portal. The half-ogre’s mighty swing missed the “thing” by mere inches, but Talia was quick enough, lacerating the creature’s back, only to watch a purplish glob of blood, pump from the imposter’s shoulder, as it proceeded toward its destination.

Dujek swung and missed with his cane, but nearly succeeded in tripping the onrushing Aerex.

Veitch had finally reached the dimension-door; he was free of this madness. The doppelganger had severely underestimated the caliber of its adversaries, and was now suffering from excruciating pain, the likes of which it had never felt before. But now he was through, and would soon be long gone.

Veitch felt the additional pain of the Bladedancer’s steel fan slicing across his back. The throbbing ache of his charred flesh was not considerate enough to suppress the newer sensation from assaulting his nerve endings. Veitch cursed and flung himself through his escape portal. Suddenly, he felt a forward push, and an additional weight grasping his lower body.

A split second before Talia had managed to tear flesh, the courageous inspector tackled the creature’s thighs, and unable to stop its desperate dash, hurtled through the portal of energy, which was now beginning to fade in and out of existence, along with Veitch, still “disguised” as the thoroughly scorched Tristan, and most of all still, screaming in anguish and fury.

The “Insecter” was in some trouble now.

--Kadarin tended to Tristan as best he could, helping the priest imbibe the healing draught. Mouse crawled out from under the bed. Koschei appeared and scurried across the floor to reunite with Dujek. For a moment all was quiet, but then a loud crash sounded downstairs, followed by screams.

--Vorodon gazed through the regular window, unsure of how the “magical window” worked, but hoping that the pair would logically appear somewhere outside. The half-ogre’s eyes widened when he saw a brief shimmer materialize in the night air, forty or so feet away from the Kettle, down a long, narrow alley. Hurtling through this “exit” portal came two “Insecters”, one burned to a crisp. Each struggled to rise, and for a moment the two Insecters stared at one another.

<<<Aerex wins initiative against “crispy” Aerex>>>

--Glordren could see the dimension door as well, as he briefly turned from the bizarre scene unfolding before him and looked down the darkened alley. Like Vorodon, the dwarven priest’s night-vision gave him the advantage. He now could see two identical figures, forty feet away, which both more than resembled the affable sabre-wielding Aerex Matare. But a mere ten feet from the dwarf was the inn, and the savage monstrosity that had burst through the ground floor window seconds earlier, amid a hail of glass, was within. Glordren had to choose, and choose quickly.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Once roused, Moruz was quick to regain full consciousness and sprung out of bed, one hand reaching for the Ouzala which rested on the wall next to him, and the other snagging his circlet (with a sense of relief, after the disturbing dreams) and sliding it on his head. He stared quizzically at the intruder, "Devilt... what? What do you...?" At that moment Moruz heard a scream from downstairs; something was wrong. The glass shifter nudged his way past the balding inn patron and ran for the stairs, unaware that half his companions were in a room just three doors down. Moruz paused at the top of the staircase and stared down in bewilderment at the scene; Vee and an unknown woman lying on the floor, a drunkard sitting and calmly guzzling mead or some other such crude outsider beverage, and most importantly, Jjuldae and a Hideous mass of fur and flesh giving each other deathly cold stares. Glass and wood was strewn across the floor, and where one of the taverns windows was, a gaping hole now stood. Moruz clasped his weapon in both hands and leapt down the stairs.

Aerex blinked, his baffled mind attempting to reassure him that his eyes were fooled. It was one thing to see two Tristans fighting each other; it was quite another to face one's self, even only in image. There was little time to observe the psychological intracacies of it all, however. The doppelganger looked very unhappy. Combat traning took over, and Aerex expertly executed a lunging thrust with his dagger aimed at the creature's throat.

''Tooth and Nail'' the beast intoned in its intense growl ''for that is what the Old Ones have decreed, false druid. Not even your natural instinct for treachery can save you now, for the wrath of the Old Ones will not permit your cowardice to lead you into breaking the oaths you swore to uphold. Face your death Jjuldae, for it has come in my form''.

Lunging faster than the mortal eye could follow, the White Wolf was upon the druid in a sudden flash of snarling fur and muscle, its massive frame slamming into the man with terrifying power, sending him crashing to the rough floor with a resounding shatter as the wood splintered beneath the impact of its ferocious attack. Its yellow eyes glimmering with the pale light of bestial joy, it seized the right arm of its victim in the brutal, crushing embrace of its massive jaws and begun to yank at it, the wolf's massive jaw muscles ripping at the unfortunate man's flesh as its punishing maw begun to rip the arm right out of his socket. It would have been a simpler matter for the White Wolf to sink its fangs into the traitor druid's exposed throat, but that would ended in a quick death, delivering a mercy that Jjuldae had done nothing to earn.

« Last Edit: November 22, 2006, 11:58:26 PM by Maggot »

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“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

Vee stirred from his artificially induced slumber, he took a pained moment to absorb the situation. The vulture-ish druid seemed to be staring down a mummified werewolf that seemed to be immune to using doors. It seemed like smashing up the Kettle was a very popular pastime in the sleepy little burg of Ganse. Moving as slowly as possible, so as to not attract attention, Vee drew himself up behind some cover and prepared his crossbow. There was no telling what sort of sticks and herbs the druid might throw at the abomination, but Vee wasn't adverse to letting a few sticks of his own fly.

(OOC - hide in shadows, shoot the wolf-man before he makes Juju into the One-winged Vulture)

The omnious sound of a cross-bow being drawn did not escape the vulpine's razor keen ears, cutting through the frenzied mist of animalistic hunger that had gripped the Wolf. One of the outlanders had awakened from a decpetive state of alcohol induced slumber to level a weapon at his back.

Things had not worked out as he had hoped, for appearantly not all of the druid's company had been drawn by the commotion taking place outside. And now he would have to kill someone else before Jjuldae would sate the jaws of vengeance with his flesh. The Old Ones were testing him once again to determine his worthiness to be the tool of their vengeance, and he would not dissapoint.

With the abrupt swiftness that only a predator of the wilderness can possess, he relased his ravenous hold on the the druid's arm and launched himself at his would-be ambusher in a single giant bound, slashing with one massive paw to sweep aside the weapon clenched in the hands of the one eager to put a bolt in him.

« Last Edit: November 23, 2006, 12:52:08 AM by Maggot »

Logged

“I'm yet another resource-consuming kid in an overpopulated planet, raised to an alarming extent by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, poised with my cynical and alienated peers to take over the world when you're old and weak.” -Bill Watterson

<< Roll gotten from Muro >>Moruz was only halfway down the stairs when the wulfen creature leapt at Jjuldae, then straight to Vee in a quick succession - it was so fast! Finally, Moruz hit the bottom floor and released his Ouzala, letting it fall to the floor with a light 'tinkle', before snatching the silver-flecked sickle from his belt loop. His feet navigating the wood and glass on the floor, Moruz charged the beast and swung the sickle savagely at the lupine beast. Moruz felt the satisfaction of the resistance of flesh as the blade of his small weapon tore through the upper-thigh of its victim. Having seen the speed of this beast however, Moruz was quick to withdraw the small weapon and dart back to give some space. He already knew this battle would not be easy.

Jjuldae hissed in pain, his arm, fleshed to the bone, pouring blood forth from vicious gashes. He could not move it- it hung limply at his side like a broken tree-limb, slapping stupidly against his thigh.He could feel blood seeping into his robes, making them heavy with his vital moisture. All around him was a blur- howls, bellows, running boot-thumps and the sound of swooping steel.

Tooth and Nail had been invoked. He must complete his geasa, he must fight the White Wolf, or be d**ned with a further burden of cowardice. He focused on the pain, made it the center of his universe, until it vanished into a background hum. He took his spear to his hand, and with a deep bellow, leapt toward the hideous white creature, sweeping his arm in a brutal arc.

Talia almost lost her balance as Aerex knocked the doppleganger away... straight into the portal. She froze for an instant. Glowing portals were *not* something she felt safe entering. They smacked of the spirit realm to her, and the spirits generally took a dim view of mortals infringing on their territory.

"Spirits are everywhere, little one. We exist peacefully with them most of the time; we mind our own business, and they mind theirs. Sometimes, spirits stop attending to their duties, or start misbehaving. But they can be easily disciplined, if you know how.""You mean magic?""Some call it that. I've seen some magnificent things... I watched a man call up storm spirits into a three day storm. If you know the way, spirits can do much for you. As long as they are in our world, we are their masters.""What about their world? Can we go there, granpapa?""Yes, we can. But you must never do that. In their realm, the spirits are the more powerful, and they are chaotic and can be harsh. They could kill you."

She shouldn't tempt the spirits; she didn't even know how to control them in this world, where they were weaker. But she'd grown to think of Aerex as a friend, and the spirits aside, there was the doppleganger... Where was the line between courage and common sense? In the end, it didn't matter, because Talia lunged through the portal after Aerex before she had a chance to think about it too much.

"Decisions, decisions! Can't they come one after another so I can bash both?" As the dark-skinned dancer leapt through the swiftly fading disc of energy, the decision was clear in Glordren's mind: the two can handle a charred foe, right?

Without a battle cry nor warning, he rushed through the door the wolf-man so kindly made... the Gleaming Lady be praised! It faced Vee, focused on its prey.

Pumping heftlily with his iron-shod feet, Glordren propelled himself forward, becoming a boulder of metal, with the sole pupose of battering down the man-wolf. Big it may be, but its bulky chest does not add to its stability! Glordren knew well: the taller they are, the faster they fall. Just try ramming one of the girly elves, and descend he will from his aloof height, do face the soles of your feet.

Once it was on the floor, the dwarf would seat himself on the... thing and bash it where he could: let us see how well it can rise with 250 pounds of honest dwarf on its back.

« Last Edit: November 23, 2006, 04:13:14 PM by EchoMirage »

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"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Tohl! Tohl mak Hamantz! ("d**n! d**n this 'human place'!") the Half-Ogre swore savagely in his ancestors' tongue as his foe dodged his grasp. He had been certain that the thing would fall before his wrath and now it had fled to the safety of the alley! He began to draw the most true of the darts he carried, for he could not afford to be wrong again, not with the Insecter struggling against the travesty blade-to-blade. Before he could cast his missile, however, he heard a crash from below, a savage cry as of some primitive beast in battle!

"Maegla!" he cried, frightened for the helpless woman he had brought to this place of battle. He turned and ran to the stair, hurling himself down them a flight at a time. He had sworn his protection upon his friend's blind beloved, and he would fulfill his charge, or die trying.

(OOC: Dart in one hand, Axe in the other: Heave the dart if practical, cause... It's clobberin' time!)

Aerex and the doppleganger tumbled through the portal, and Talia slipped through after. Meanwhile the crazed half-ogre screamed something in it's harsh tounge, and then what sounded like a name, turned and ran down the stairs, into what sounded like a fight with some sort of demonic wolf below. Charging down the stairs after him Dujek came upon a scene of utter chaos, with 4 people already attacking some sort of werewolf, already half-dead by the looks of it.

Calm Dujek, only fools go charging in without thinking. It's too fast for you, and your friends too if you're not lucky. Take away its speed and it will fall.

Muttering under his breathe as he bent his wrists back as far as the would go, then channeling his powers into the spell to bend them more, until the sound of bones grating upon eachother came to his ears. Focusing on the beast he sought to lock up its joints as his wrists were locking up now.

OOC: Thats that sobering skeletal stillness that I sent you bossman.

« Last Edit: November 23, 2006, 08:45:26 PM by Pariah »

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For the love of meat, shut up! No one wants to hear your emo character background! My hands are literally melting away, and I'm complaining less than you!—K'seliss, Goblins

Not a healer, Kadarin figured the potion was the best that he could do under the cirumstances. That done, he turned his attention to what was happening now. The various party members had either charged downstairs or went through the magical portal. I've got to learn that spell.

First a quick look around the room to see if anything was smoldering from the lightning bolt, Thank the Gods it was not a Fireball! shuddered Kadarin. In the future, avoid using wand in close quarters..., then Kadarin moved to carefully see what was going on downstairs.